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Simon lurched forward as another wave of crimson bile forced its way through his lips. This isn’t right, Simon thought hopelessly, I’m a vampire – I shouldn't even get sick anymore. Balefully, he let out another low moan as shivers wracked his body.
Oh great, his head was throbbing again. Simon moaned again and tried to curl up under the blankets of his bed, careful not to knock the sick bowl onto his sheets. The throbbing worsened as a loud, obnoxious banging began to sound through the boathouse. "No”, Simon moaned, “office hours are between 9 and 5 on days where I don’t feel like I’m dying… Again.” The banging stopped and Simon had arguably 5 whole seconds of peace before the unmistakeable sound of the door being opened replaced it.
“Wow, and I thought you looked bad normally.” Simon screwed his eyes shut tighter than he thought imaginable at the familiar voice; if there were one person in the entire world that he never wanted to see him like this, it was the one standing before him now. Jace Herondale. Great.
“He’s right –you look awful.” Oh, this keeps getting better, Alec’s here too. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and he found himself melting into it with a low sigh that he knew he’d normally be embarrassed about. “This isn’t good”, Alec’s voice was distorted through the pain because he almost sounded concerned as he went on to say, “Jace he’s burning up. He shouldn’t be this sick – I’m going to call around. Either Magnus or Raphael should have some kind of input.”
And just like that, the cool presence of the other boy’s hand was gone and Simon found himself letting out a whine as he heard footsteps rush hurriedly outside and the tell-tale dial tone. Simon could feel the bed dip beside him and let out a soft moan as a cool damp cloth was placed on his forehead; it smelled slightly, as a cloth does when it isn’t properly dried, and Simon suspected that it was the cloth he had used to clean his face the night before. He’d left it scrunched up beside the sink, near his bed, already feeling the effects of the tainted blood roiling in his stomach.
Now, Simon has never admitted this before, but some of his best memories of childhood had been those of when his father cared for him through illness. His mother had always been a worrier, constantly taking his temperature and calling out the family doctor for the smallest of ailments, but Simon’s dad? He’d made him tomato-rice soup and sat beside his bed, dabbing Simon’s forehead with a cool cloth and singing whatever song came to mind. The first time he’d been sick after his dad had passed, he had cried the entire time – not because of the pain of the sickness, but for the pain of his father’s absence.
Now though, now Simon could hear soft humming as a hand hesitantly stroked at his hair, growing more sure with every stroke until it became a steady pressure with nails scraping gently against his scalp. The song was familiar to Simon and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that it was one of his own – one that he had played at his last set at The Hunter’s Moon. A small smile found its way onto his lips despite the awful condition he was in.
The smile only lasted a short while, as Alec came back in, feet falling oddly hard on the concrete considering he usually possessed the stealth of a ninja; the throbbing had returned to his head and was now accompanied by severe light-headedness – the kind that rushes blood to your ears and makes it impossible to hear. Given his undead status and lack of flowing blood, Simon wouldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow he was certainly unable to register anything but the pain in his head and stomach, although Alec must have said something about moving him, because he was quickly pulled into a pair of strong arms, one snaking its way under his legs and lifting him up. The sensation was dizzying but it was far preferable to the nauseating sensation he recognised as portal travel.
(Simon would later plea leniency for his already sick state when Magnus reprimanded him for vomiting over a rug that Magnus had apparently kept free from all stains and damage for the past 2 centuries.)
It was later, after Magnus had magicked the tainted blood from his and provided a new supply that replenished Simon and allowed his healing to kick in, that he noticed it. Since the moment that he had been laid down on the spare bed in Magnus’ loft, a steady pressure had been present on his left hand and only now that his head had finally stopped throbbing, did he look to see what it was.
It was Jace.
The blonde boy was clutching Simon’s hand tightly as he slept, head resting closely beside Simon’s hip. He was sleeping at such an awkward angle, that Simon deeply suspected that he’d require a healing rune when he woke. With a smile, Simon used his newly replenished strength to extract his hand, smiling wider as he saw the frown overtake Jace’s sleeping features. With care, he slid off of the bed and carefully lifted Jace, placing him on the bed, hesitating only a moment before climbing back in himself.
As his eyes grew heavy form the exertion of such a task when he was still sick, he felt sleep begin to reclaim him quickly, but not before an arm pulled at his waist, nestling him closer and a leg was thrown over his own.
Simon fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking back to that conversation that hadn’t really been all that long ago – only a few months, really. He remembered Jace’s vehement claims that he didn’t care about Simon and all the times he had saved him since then, placing Simon’s safety before his own. He thought back to Jace claiming that he would never care. He fell asleep with one word aimed at the slumbering boy behind him: Liar.